


Who's Gonna Pick You Up When You Fall?

by gwenweybourne



Series: ABQ Revisited [1]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jesse needs hugs, broken!Jesse, father/son dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An expansion of the famous scene in "ABQ" (Season 2, ep. 13) where Walter rescues Jesse from the drug den. Told in 3rd person, Walter's POV, and goes beyond the scene to Walter taking Jesse to a safe house and taking care of him for the night before Jesse goes to rehab. Plays upon Walt and Jesse's complicated father/son relationship. ALL the feels! And some Walter White mind-fuckery, of course. And broken!Jesse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Gonna Pick You Up When You Fall?

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking Bad always entertained me, amused me, terrified me, and thrilled me. But this scene where Jesse breaks down and clings to Walter for comfort (http://youtu.be/FqDsugfu8M0) is the first time the show really moved me. I love this scene and I think most fans do. It's the first time that it becomes clear that Walt actually genuinely cares something for Jesse, even if it's wrapped up in his own selfish motives. I just wanted to flesh it out and expand it into what happened after. I'm not opposed to Walt/Jesse slash, but mostly I think their relationship falls into a complicated father/son dynamic. And I think Walt must experience a lot of conflicting feelings when he's taking care of Jesse.
> 
> Also, of course, it's a way for him to continue manipulating and conditioning Jesse and that's definitely reflected in the story, as well. Walter White's motivations are never purely altruistic, after all ;)
> 
> ALSO, I'm nostalgic for the "old days" of Jesse and Walt.
> 
> Spoilers for Season 2, duh, but not beyond that.

The Shooting Gallery looked like something out of a nightmare that Walt kept expecting to have, but had not yet arrived. If his life were a movie, it would be a cinematic type of nightmare where he’d arrive at a grotesque party to meet all of his “customers.” A tattered banner reading, “Welcome Heisenberg!” would hang haphazardly from a wall. And these people — these ravaged, half-deranged, rank people that he was seeing right now — would surround him, clutch at him with their bony, scabby hands, and tell him how his product had affected their lives. _Destroyed_ their lives, more like. They’d pull him down and he’d disappear into a sea of human refuse, never to be seen again.

But his life wasn’t a movie and he hadn’t had that nightmare. He didn’t intend to. He manufactured a product and what people decided to do with that product was their business. Walt’s only concern at the moment was locating Jesse, which Mike had done, but Walt needed to see Pinkman with his own eyes. And, in spite of Mike’s warnings, Walt chose to go into the drug den on his own.

It was rather amazing, though, how he wasn’t afraid here. Disgusted, yes. Repelled, of course. But not afraid. A few months ago he would have been terrified to find himself in a place like this. It was remarkable how priorities can change. He had Heisenberg now. Heisenberg had no fear of strung-out junkies, as unpredictable as they could be. His only mission was to find and contain Jesse Pinkman. Jesse, the loose cannon. Jesse, who was swimming up to his eyeballs in narcotics and grief. Walt had to find him before Jesse did something rash or hurt himself or, god forbid, overdosed and died like Jane.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not for Jesse. As for Jane … Walt felt a tug of regret when he thought of it. His choice hadn’t been an easy one. She was just a girl, yes. Someone’s kid. She wasn’t that much older than Junior. But she had turned herself into a threat. She could have potentially brought harm and ruin to his family, so in the end the choice had been simple. Jane would be subtracted from the equation, leaving his family and his growing fortune — and Jesse — safe. And besides, it wasn’t as if Walt had killed her himself. He hadn’t laid a hand on the girl. Ironically, it was for that reason that she’d died, choking on her own vomit like the junkie that she was. Walt knew he was rationalizing. He was good at it. Sinning by omission didn’t seem nearly as bad as sinning through action. As for Jesse? He was young. He’d bounce back. He thought he was in love and maybe he was, but their relationship had lasted for all of what … a few months? Most of that time spent high, no doubt. No … Jesse was better off without her. Jane was a distraction. A complication. Pouring poison into the younger man’s ear. Well, fate had certainly seen to that.

He stepped over prone bodies, and carefully avoided passersby, breathing through his mouth to deal with the stench of filth and sick and unwashed bodies. Passing through another doorway, he cast his eyes around and there he was. Lying still on the floor. “Jesse!” he exclaimed under his breath and hastened to the young man’s side. Still, so still. Jesse was never still. He was always so full of nervous energy. Always in motion, either shifting from foot to foot or tapping on surfaces, spinning on chairs, and any other number of nervous tics that drove Walt up the wall. But in that moment he’d have given anything to see even one of those movements. He knelt by Jesse’s side and put his hands on the young man, his fingers instinctively seeking out the pulse on the side of his neck. Walt shuddered with relief when his hands encountered a warm body and a steady pulse thumping beneath his fingers. He turned Jesse onto his back. “Jesse, look at me, son, wake up, wake up …”

 _Son_. Had he ever called Jesse that before? Where did that come from? Was he imagining the horror of looking for Junior in a place like this? Was part of his fractured conscience wondering how Jane’s father felt at this very moment? Questions Walter had neither the time nor desire to answer.

He cradled Jesse’s face between his hands, and the younger man stirred, responding to Walt’s voice, though the words that came from his mouth were pure gibberish. There was a beatific expression on his face. The joyful few seconds after waking before remembering why he sought oblivion in the first place. The bliss was replaced by confusion and panic and Jesse began to flail instinctively (correctly, too — this was the kind of place where someone putting their hands on you meant impending robbery, rape, or death). Walter clutched at him and Jesse attempted to fight him off, but he was weak as a kitten and no match for Walt’s firm grip. He repeated Jesse’s name again and again. “It’s me!” he pleaded. “It’s me, Walt. It’s Walt!”

And suddenly, the name registered and Jesse went still and limp in his grasp. _Walt. Walt is safe, yes._

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Walt said, tugging at Jesse, trying to lift him into a sitting position.

“No, nonononono,” Jesse groaned, resisting and eventually flopping back down again. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Walt’s hands pawed helplessly at Jesse’s shoulders, as if willing him to obey. _Why must you always make things so damn difficult?_

He took Jesse’s face between his hands again, forcing the younger man to look up at him. Walt’s myopic gazed burned into Jesse’s. “Listen, Jesse, you are _not_ good right here. You are not good at all. You hear?” Walt slid his arms under Jesse’s and pulled him close, making as if to lift him up to his feet.“You’re going to put your arms around me. You’re going to stand up. And we’re going to walk out of here, okay?” He spoke softly, like when Junior was first learning to walk with his crutches and needed to be sweetly coaxed along to keep him from melting down in frustration. He needed Jesse to do the same. To just move forward. To follow Walter. To not ask questions. “We’re going to take you some place nice and safe, that’s it!” Walter was pleading now as Jesse scrabbled like a newborn colt to get his legs underneath him. “Now let’s go. Here we go!”

But then all progress stopped and Walter looked down at his young charge, confused. Jesse’s arms were still wrapped tightly around him, but there was a new sound. The slight body against him began to quake and Jesse was making pitiful, broken noises. Crying, no … sobbing, against Walt’s chest.

Walt stiffened, shocked, unable to process for a moment. How to respond to this. To this kind of Jesse. This wasn’t the swaggering, posturing, obnoxious, arrogant, sass-mouthed, impulsive, infuriating young man he’d first met at J.P. Wynne and then later in the driveway of his house. The same young man who gave off a strong impression of being wholly dim-witted and then prone to the occasional — very occasional — flashes of insight that could border on brilliant. This wasn’t “Yo, bitch!” Jesse Pinkman. Walter White had never met this Jesse Pinkman before. Sobbing his heart out, unashamed and unbridled, clinging to Walter like a lost child.

_Which is what he is, isn’t it? An overgrown junkie child. But when did I decide he was my responsibility? Why am I even here?_

But there was no point in dwelling on this right now. Slowly, Walt’s posture changed and he let fatherly instinct take over, first awkwardly petting Jesse’s greasy hair and then returning the embrace, patting his shoulder. Even his gentle shushes sounded shaky and unsure. But it was all he could do as Jesse sobbed and shook against him. Jesse’s clothes were dirty and he smelled terrible, but Walter ignored that and held him anyway. If he could get Jesse calm, he could get him out of this hellhole and somewhere safe. His cheek was pressed against the top of Jesse’s head and suddenly he heard the other man’s voice shaky, weak, and broken, “I killed her.”

“What?” Walt breathed.

“I killed her,” Jesse insisted, still sobbing and rocking. “It was me! I got her back on —”

Walt wrenched Jesse away from him and gripped his shoulders tightly, before holding his face again, staring hard at him. “No, Jesse, look at me, look at me …” Jesse’s eyes were swollen to slits, his face streaked with tears and hideously contorted into an expression of agony so primal it was literally painful to look at him. But Walt gritted his teeth and said the words that Jesse needed to hear. That Walter himself needed to hear. He said it for both of them. So they could both be convinced. So Walter could move forward and Jesse wouldn’t feel the need to look back too closely.

“You didn’t kill _anybody_ ,” he said fiercely.

“I loved her …” Jesse whimpered, trapped and helpless between the vise of Walt’s hands. “I loved her more than anything …”

His suffering was so palpable that Walt — for once — was at a loss for words. He could barely breathe. Stricken, he pulled Jesse back into his arms just as the younger man collapsed anew into paroxysms of grief, his pain like a great, raw open wound. The sheer force of it stunned Walt. _This is why he uses, isn’t it? How else could you tame something like this?_

He was vaguely aware that he’d never felt that intensely about anything in his life. Not about Skyler. Not even about his children, whom he claimed to love more than anything. He didn’t even know how to feel like that. About anything.

He looked down at the shattered man in his arms who was softly moaning _nononono_ and decided that he’d perhaps dodged a bullet in that respect.

* * *

It took time — far more time than Walt would have liked — for Jesse to finally exhaust himself and only then was Walt able to remove him from the Shooting Gallery. Literally. Jesse was too tired and sick and sad to fight him any longer, but he simply was in no condition to walk. But he’d managed to get to his feet with much coaxing on Walter’s part. He swayed back and forth, his eyes still swollen and unfocused. Walter took a long breath and cracked his neck before stooping, sliding an arm behind Jesse’s knees and the other behind his back. _Lift with your knees, Walt, or else you’re both going to be flat on your backs in this shithole_.

Surprisingly, Jesse was easy enough to lift, his lightweight frame camouflaged by extra pounds of hoodie and baggy jeans. _The boy is 50% clothes, for god’s sake_.

Jesse muttered something unintelligible, a vague protest, perhaps, but it was short-lived and he nodded off again, collapsing against Walt’s chest. Walt straightened up, holding Jesse close and made his way to the front door, staring down anyone who even thought about getting in his way. _Surely, in the past, some of these rejects must have been lucky enough to still have at least one person who’d come for them. You don’t fuck with someone who is still holding on at that point._

He’d hold on for Jesse. He always did. Wasn’t even always sure why, but the urge was strong and clear. Maybe because he was the only one who truly knew what Walt had been through in the past months. Because he’d been the catalyst for Walt’s transformation; the birth of Heisenberg. Because Jesse was loyal and Jesse needed him and when he wasn’t fucking up, he did what he was told. And Walt needed that. Even if the little shit seemed like more trouble than he was worth half the time.

Outside, Mike exited the car upon spotting Walt and Jesse. He opened the back door and together they bundled Jesse into one of the seats. The young man roused during this process and mumbled faintly, attempting to be helpful, but Walt gently batted his hands away and buckled Jesse in. Jesse looked at Mike, really seeing him for the first time and made a choking sound as his eyes welled up again. Mike looked at Jesse, his expression stern, but there was a flicker of warmth in his pale blue eyes.

“Hey, kid. You remember what I told you, right?”

Jesse swallowed a sob and nodded.

“We don’t need to revisit that right now, son,” Walt said softly, patting Jesse’s shoulder. “We just need to get the hell out here. C’mon, Jesse …”

Jesse sighed and hiccupped, a few tears sliding down his face, and he gave in, letting Walt get him settled, as if he were buckling Holly into her car seat. He let Walt straighten his hoodie and zip it up to keep him warm. Jesse reached up with shaky hands, pulled the hoodie over his head and burrowed into it, his hands fisting the cuffs of his sleeves. Walt got into the passenger seat and Mike started the car.

“I don’t want you to ever come back to a place like this,” Walt said quietly and firmly, looking at Jesse in the rear-view mirror. “Ever. If you do, I will find you — _again_ — and physically drag you out by your ear and I don’t fucking care if you can walk or not. Do you understand?”

Jesse nodded silently, chastened.

* * *

“Where are we, Mr. White?” Jesse croaked, looking up at the small townhouse when they pulled up.

“A favor, courtesy of Saul,” Walt replied. “Obviously, we can’t go back to my place. And I know you wouldn’t want to go back to yours …”

“No,” Jesse muttered, shaking his head vehemently. “Nononono …”

“It’s only for a night. You’re checking into rehab tomorrow.”

Jesse looked at Walt, taken aback.

“I’d like to think that even despite the state you’re in now that you’re not going to think of arguing with me or trying to take off. Self-destructing is not an option. You need to deal with this.”

Jesse dropped his eyes to his lap and he nodded his head miserably.

The words were on the tip of Walt’s tongue: sarcastic words congratulating Jesse for not making the worst possible choice for once. He pursed his lips and said only, “That’s good, son. Very good.”

* * *

Now that he was more conscious, Jesse protested at being carried inside the townhouse like a child. “I can walk,” he mumbled, managing to unbuckle himself before fumbling at the door handle. “Jesus, I’m not totally —” his words were cut off when his legs failed to follow his torso and he fell into a heap on the pavement.

Walter slammed the door shut behind him and hustled around to the other side, kneeling beside Jesse. Mike followed, sighing and rolling his eyes. “You were saying?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck!” Jesse’s expression crumpled. “I’m … I’m real fucked up, Mr. White. I’m sorry, I …”

“Shhhh,” Walt soothed, once again slipping his arms under Jesse’s arms and helping the younger man back to his feet. “It’s all right, Jesse. You just need to sleep this off and you’ll be more mobile tomorrow. C’mon now …” He lifted Jesse back up again and Jesse reluctantly slid an arm around Walt’s shoulders, then resting his forehead there.

“You need a hand getting Goldilocks into her little bed?” Mike asked.

Walt sighed and glared at him with a _you’re not helping_ expression. “I think I can take it from here, Mike. Thanks again.” He wiggled two free fingers and Mike hooked the handles of a small overnight bag over them before nodding at Walt and getting back into the car.

“So fucking embarrassing …” Jesse mumbled as Mike drove away.

“I don’t want to hear another word about that,” Walt admonished, slightly out of breath as he carried Jesse up the short flight of stairs to the front door. “Everyone falls down sometimes. And when that happens, everyone needs someone to pick them up.”

“Ain’t no one ever picked me up before. Literally or fig … fig … the other one,” Jesse muttered softly. “This shit’s new to me, yo.”

* * *

The townhouse was outfitted garishly — like Saul himself — but it was clean and secure.

Walt was relieved to see Jesse become more compliant after his failed show of ego out on the sidewalk. He let Walt carry him inside and sit him down on the bed. He didn’t protest when Walt ran a bath — the kid smelled like a back alley and Walt had no interest in breathing that in during the drive to the clinic the next morning. He slung Jesse’s arm around his shoulder and helped him into the bathroom, sat him down on the toilet lid and started undressing him.

Jesse frowned and Walt could see the protest building in his mind, but also recognizing that he was in no condition to undress and bathe himself.

“Hmmm, last time we were in this position I was trying to flush your stash down the toilet and you were trying to kick me in the head,” Walt said, smirking, attempting to distract Jesse as he pulled off the baggy, filthy T-shirt. “All right, this is what I do when I’m helping my son get dressed. Put your hands on my shoulders so I can get your pants off.”

Jesse managed a clumsy snort and flopped his arms onto Walt’s shoulders, raising himself up on shaky legs. “A fifty-year-old bald dude is stripping me naked … yo, _that’s_ when I should be kicking some head.”

Walt chuckled dryly. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He plucked off Jesse’s socks, gut churning at the smell, then quickly tugged down Jesse’s jeans and boxer shorts. “I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t smell like a drug den,” he remarked, keeping his eyes up as he slung Jesse’s arm around his shoulders again and helped him carefully step into the tub and sit down.

“I don’t think a fucking _bath_ is gonna get me clean, Mr. White,” said Jesse, drawing up his knees to his chest out of a sense of both modesty and vulnerability. “God …” He took a shaky breath and buried his head in his hands. He looked very small in the oversized tub. Or maybe that’s just how it appeared to Walt, who was struck by startling memories of kneeling beside a tub and bathing Walter Junior when he was younger. In fact due to Junior’s CP, Walt had had to assist his son in the tub until an older-than-usual age. He remembered the boy trying to pull himself into the same position. The protests of “Dad, god, can you get out of here? I can do it myself!”

Walt shook his head clear of those thoughts and dipped a washcloth into the water before lathering it up with soap. He paused for a moment, then slowly drew it across Jesse’s back.

Jesse swallowed hard, still burying his face in his hands. Something about the combination of the hot, soothing water, and Walt’s gentle touch seemed to undo him again. “Shit, Mr. White,” he choked. “Why’re you being so fucking nice to me? I don’t know if I can take it. After everything’s that happened …”

Walt washed the back of Jesse’s neck and under his arms before putting the cloth temporarily aside to work shampoo through Jesse’s short, spiky hair. “You’re not used to people being kind to you, are you?”

“Fuck no,” Jesse sputtered, wiping some soap away from his eyes.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I dunno!” Jesse said through gritted teeth. “Maybe, uh, because I’m a useless piece of shit? Just like you tell me all the time. You’re right, Mr. White. I’m shit. I’m nothin’. I’m the worst thing that ever happened to Jane. I’m probably the worst thing that ever happened to you and you don’t even know it yet.”

“I don’t think I ever used those exact words,” Walt replied calmly, picking up the detachable shower head and turning on the water to rinse Jesse’s hair, tipping the younger man’s head back to avoid getting more soap in his eyes.

“Aw, c’mon, Mr. White,” Jesse protested. “Don’t fuckin’ play word games with me right now. You know what I mean.”

“I tell you those things when I’m trying to correct you and you won’t listen and I sometimes get frustrated,” said Walt, smoothly. “If I really thought you were worthless, I would have left you in that —” he forced the word out with disgust “— _place_ … to rot. But I didn’t.”

“Well … no …” Jesse demurred.

“And who was first person you called when you woke up and discovered Jane?”

“You?”

“And did I help you?”

“… yeah.”

“Exactly,” said Walt firmly, signalling an end to the discussion. “Since you’ve now become coherent enough now to argue with me, I can assume that means you can wash your own nether regions.” He held out the washcloth to Jesse. “Let’s finish up and get you to bed.”

* * *

A short while later, Jesse was dry and dressed in a new T-shirt and shorts from the bag Mike had delivered. Walt helped him into bed and stepped out briefly to put Jesse’s fetid clothes in the washing machine. He returned to the bedroom with a glass of water and located a vial of pills in the bag. He shook one out and held it out to Jesse with the water. “Take this.”

Jesse eyed the pill warily. “Yo, I thought the point was for me to _stop_ using drugs.”

“Right. Like I’m going to pull you out of a crackhouse to feed you more illegal narcotics.”

“Says the fuckin’ crystal king of New Mexico.”

“It’s a sleeping pill,” Walt said impatiently. “Zopiclone. It’ll ensure you get a few hours of sleep. And keep you calm until I can come back for you in the morning and take you to rehab. God knows it’s practically candy compared to what you’re used to taking.”

Jesse shrugged and took the pill from Walt’s hand, swallowing it and taking the glass of water with a shaky hand. He looked up at Walt, questioning. “You gotta go?”

Walt nodded. “You know I have to. I have no plausible excuse to give Skyler for staying away all night.”

Jesse nodded, dropped his eyes. “Yeah … yeah, totally. Right. That’s cool. But, um … would you mind …”

“Staying until you fall asleep? Yes, I can do that.”

“’Kay.” Jesse’s tone was nonchalant, but Walt could see him visibly relax as he lay down.

Walt settled down into a chair opposite the bed. “I’m locking you in. And taking your phone. And If I come back tomorrow and you’ve broken a window and escaped, I’m not coming after you. This is your one and only chance, Jesse. Everyone knows a junkie can’t be trusted, but I really have no other choice. The only favors I could get out of Saul and Mike have already been cashed in. I’m on my own with you now.”

“Okay, okay, _god_.”

Walt raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I’m _sorry_. Am I being too harsh on you? Perhaps you’d like me to call over your good friends from the Shooting Gallery to keep you company? Leave your bag of money out so you can all have a good time?”

“I get it, Mr. White. It’s fine. Drop it. And … fuck …” Jesse’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Can you, like, move somewhere else? It’s creepy with you sitting there looking at me. I can feel it even when my eyes are closed. You do that creepy eye-thing.”

“Creepy. Eye. Thing.” Walt intoned.

“Yeah, you have this way of looking at people. All scary and shit. I mean, it’s good for business n’all, but I’m trying to sleep, yo.”

“There’s nowhere else to sit. It’s not a big room, Jesse.”

Jesse shrugged.

Walt sighed, relenting. “All right, Jesse, all right.” He stood up and lay down on the bed on his back, on top of the covers, with Jesse curled up next to him.

They lapsed into silence. Jesse snuffled and shifted every so often, sometimes drawing in a rattling breath.

“Don’t think about it, Jesse,” Walt said quietly. “Just relax. Let the Zopiclone do its work.”

“… how’d you know?” Jesse murmured, his voice slower and thicker.

“Science,” said Walt sarcastically.

“Yeah, science, bitch,” Jesse mumbled with a chuckle. “Yeah …”

After a few more moments. “… Mr. White?”

“You won’t fall asleep if you keep talking, Jesse.”

“Yeah, I know … just … I was wondering. You said everyone falls down sometimes and everyone needs to get picked up sometimes.” Jesse’s words were slightly slurred.

“Yes. And?”

“Well … I wuz wunnerin’ … like … who picks you up, Mr. White? I mean … it can’t be me because I’m a loser, but, yo, like, you know what I mean? Who?”

“Hmm.” Walt thought about it for a few long moments. “No one’s ever picked me up. I pick myself up. And you helped. You did that, son.”

Silence.

“Jesse?”

He was answered by a snore.

Walt’s mouth quirked in a smile. He’d tell Jesse his answer another time. Maybe.


End file.
